


Plans for the Future

by moodymarshmallow



Series: The Elf and the Apostate [22]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:16:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1795075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the siege of Amaranthine over, there's something missing at Vigil's Keep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plans for the Future

It was autumn in Amaranthine and the mornings were tinged with rime, as though the dew that glittered the grass had been frozen only moments before the sun rose. Rebuilding was nearly complete. The walls of Vigil's Keep were twice as strong as they had been before the assault, and by the time the newly proposed renovations were finished, the outpost would be a fortress. Inside, where the damage had been minimal, life within the Keep continued as near to normal as it could. Warm winter quilts were brought down from attic storage, dusty, but no worse for wear, and lay folded at the end of every occupied bed. Near every hearth, baskets of firewood were piled high, ready for the first real winter chill to howl through the walls. In the kitchens, the last summer fruits to escape a fate of preservation as jam were being baked into tarts and crumbles--one last sunny treat before the transition to less exciting winter fare. With the darkspawn threat stamped out and the upcoming harvest showing promise, the wardens of Vigil's Keep had nothing to do but watch the construction and enjoy the comforts of their home.

But this was a tenuous peace. The late Seneschal had run the Keep with the efficiency of a veteran general, and his passing left a void of leadership in the Keep's day-to-day management that no one had been able to fill. It was agreed that the new Seneschal had to be a warden, or at least someone affiliated closely enough with them to understand their secrets, but among the seven wardens--one of whom was also the Arl--there was no one who wanted the job. None of the staff were acquainted well enough with the actual mission and duty of the wardens to step in, and while they had managed so far on habit alone, they would eventually need order that nobody was willing to give.

"I think the course of action is clear," Theron said over supper to the gathered wardens. "The nearest outpost is in Orlais. I should send a letter requesting an administrator."

"The Orlesians are unlikely to simply help," Nathaniel said, his expression dour but thoughtful. "I'm sure you know how little time has passed since they were ousted from Ferelden."

"They're wardens." Theron shrugged. He was sitting beside Anders, as he always did now, having apparently gotten comfortable with the gossip floating around about 'the elf and his apostate.' "It doesn't matter what you were before. It shouldn't, at least," he added in a distracted mutter.

"Nothing ever works the way it ought to with Orlesians," Nathaniel said, and this time he nearly sneered.

"Speaking from experience, are you?" Anders asked.

Sigrun, at Nathaniel's side, noted with a smile that Anders often chimed in with questions she could tell Theron wanted the answer to, and was simply too withdrawn or reticent to ask. She had watched their relationship blossom as though it were a plot in a novel, delighted at the changes as they both had a positive effect on the other. Theron had unfurled like a fern, exposing layer upon layer hidden underneath his customary quiet. Anders' bitterness, that unmistakable bite behind his jokes, had faded, though she guessed that he would never be truly free of it. Just the same, they were her favorite attraction at the Keep, now that the excitement died down, and she watched them both, smiling happily with her head resting on her folded arms.

"I met many Orlesians in the Free Marches. They're...tedious," he finished, somewhat vaguely. "Orlais has a great many customs that are strange to Fereldans and Free Marchers alike, and they are not eager to give them up just because they're outside of their borders."

"But they _are_ wardens." As he sat back into his chair, Theron folded his arms over his narrow chest.

"I am not trying to dissuade you, Commander." Nathaniel pushed his chair back. It scraped the stone floor with a loud screech and beside him, Sigrun winced. "Merely warning you that it may not be as simple a task as you think."

\------

Upstairs, in the warden-commander's quarters, Theron lay on his back atop the cozy winter quilt. He still wore a baggy linen shirt with elfroot stained cuffs, though it was hitched up enough to show the flat plane of his freckled belly above his smallclothes. Atop the wardrobe was the crow that had yet to leave, its head twisted back into its shoulders while it slept. Below on a cushion, Ser Pounce-a-Lot watched it warily, tail flicking from side to side. Theron's head was turned towards Anders, who splashed water on his face over the basin, peering thoughtfully at himself into the looking glass, rubbing the stubble on his chin. Theron didn't see this, however. He was lost in thought, his pale eyes unfocused when Anders turned to face him.

Anders barely needed to see him to feel the twin pulses of desire and adoration that were always tinged with the slightest bit of disbelief-- _I can't believe he's mine_ \--and he let them bloom in his chest as he gazed at his distant face. He sat beside him on the bed, brushing his fingertips along the narrow strip of exposed stomach, a smile breaking over his face when Theron jerked back from his thoughts to glance accusingly up at him. "It was very tempting," Anders said, apologizing, but mostly teasing, waiting for the first hint of rosiness to appear on the tips of Theron's ears. Theron snorted indignantly and rolled onto his side, stretching his lean body entirely before settling in a more comfortable position.

"Do you think Nathaniel is right?" Theron asked, a small furrow of the brow present on his deceptively youthful face.

"He may be," Anders agreed. He leaned to unlace his boots, pausing at the sensation of Theron's warm hand traveling slowly across his hip. "But you can't know until you try. A letter can't harm anyone, and you'll have your answer soon enough." Kicking off the boot, he started on the other hastily.

"Mmm," was all Theron said in reply. It was a familiar sound. Theron rarely spoke of important topics unless he was entirely sure of his decisions, and Anders knew more explanation would come in time.

With his other boot off, he turned, lifting one knee onto the bed as he faced Theron, smiling down at his pensive face surrounded with a halo of red hair spread out on the pillow below his head. "Maker, but you're beautiful," he whispered, his heart still leaping when that soft smile passed over Theron's face. There had been a time when Theron would blush furious red at those words, but he had come to accept them without becoming flustered. Anders bent and kissed him lightly, though not without promise. Theron leaned into his kiss, sitting up enough to wrap one arm around his neck as his tongue darted between his lips and into Anders' mouth. Theron pulled him down, and though Anders both outweighed him and stood a foot taller, he let Theron gather him against his chest. He rested his head there, Theron's fingers carding slowly through his hair, listening to the soft, steady thump of his heart, only moving to lay behind him once Theron fell asleep.

\------

Theron woke to a bitter chill. With half-open eyes, he gazed blearily around the room, finding nothing worth looking at during the brief survey. He gathered all of the quilts and pulled them up to his chin, burrowed into his pillow, and dozed back into a light morning sleep, half-waking again when Ser Pounce-a-Lot wormed under the blankets to curl up against his spine. Some time later, the mattress sunk as Anders sat on the edge of the bed, gently shaking the lump that was Theron and Pounce with one hand. Theron grunted with the lack of dignity only acceptable to the half-asleep and pulled the quilt over his head.

"Oh, love, that was not a charming noise," Anders said with a gentle laugh. He tugged the quilts down enough to expose Theron's face to the dim grayish light falling over the bed from the arrow slit windows. "There's a letter for you that I think you ought to read."

"From Orlais?" Theron asked, his voice a mumbling slur. But even as he asked, he remembered that the letter to the warden-commander of Orlais had only been a suggestion.

"It's from the palace in Denerim," Anders said, and Theron sat up slightly, propping himself onto his elbows as he eyed the letter with dreamy curiosity. "Would you like me to read it for you?"

Theron shook his head and leaned against Anders with an impressive yawn. His unusually sharp incisors made him cat-like, a comparison only bolstered by his twitching ears and wide, shining eyes, but Anders kept the observation to himself as he reached up and stroked Theron's hair.

"What then?"

"Tea." He was petulant in his waking. "Tea and scones."

"And if they don't have scones in the kitchen, I suppose I have to magic them up out of thin air?" As Anders teased, Theron made an agitated grumbling noise and flopped to his side, making himself comfortable again. Anders laughed. "What would the others think if they knew you were so spoiled?" Theron said nothing. "Do you want jam?"

"Only cranberry or marmalade," Theron replied, and despite chiding him, Anders went downstairs to fetch it.

Once Theron had woken enough to eat a scone slathered in sour marmalade and drink three cups of tea, he asked Anders to read the letter. As Anders unfolded the parchment, Theron took note of Alistair Theirin's seal.

_Greetings Warden-Commander,_

_I trust this letter finds you well. I have been thoroughly informed of your activities in Amaranthine, and it appears that congratulations are in order for your victories. Amaranthine City is dedicating a week of celebration to the wardens, or so I'm told. Duncan would have laughed at that, I think._

_But I suppose I ought to come right out with my reason for writing. It seems that your mabari has become quite taken with one of the dogs in the royal kennel. As of my writing this letter, she has whelped eight healthy pups. While I'm pleased to have such a fine litter of mabari for the royal kennel, the kennel masters have been unable to get close to your dog--did you ever name her? Everyone's just calling her Dog--to care for her or the puppies. According to Sal, mabari won't let anyone other than the person they've imprinted on come near the pups until their eyes are open and they're walking on their own._

_Since the excitement has settled in Amaranthine, I'd like to extend an invitation to you and as many guests as you'd like. You're welcome at the castle for as long as you'd like...and it would really be best for everyone involved if you came. Sal needed three stitches in his hand after trying to give your dog a scratch behind the ears._

"I didn't know you had a mabari." Anders flipped the letter over in his hands, examining the red wax seal.

"She imprinted on me during the siege at Ostegar." Theron set the remains of the scone onto the nightstand, ignoring the crow as it fluttered down to peck at it. He sidled up beside Anders and took the letter from him.

"I always wanted a mabari when I was..." Anders paused, a subtle darkness crossing his face. Theron watched it, silently cataloging the expression in the enormous collection of knowledge he'd amassed about his lover. "When I was younger," he finished, and the darkness passed. "Is it true they know what you're saying?"

"She understood me. Understands me." Theron folded the letter and set it aside. "She followed every order, no matter how difficult. But she kept trying to take children with us," Theron said with a distant, concerned expression that puzzled Anders.

"So, are you going to go?"

"No." Theron nuzzled to Anders' hair, smiling. "We are."


End file.
